


Nightcap

by luvkurai



Series: University-verse [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, University AU, Virgin!Will, You guys asked for NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:32:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvkurai/pseuds/luvkurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“May I offer you something to clear your head?” Hannibal offers. Will shakes his head; though he is drowsy, the effects of alcohol have yet to wear off. </p><p>Sequel to House Music</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightcap

**Author's Note:**

> Written due to the overwhelming request for a sequel to House Music with NSFW. This occurs directly after it, so you should definitely read that first.

“Oh my _god_ , Will!” Beverly all but screams when he approaches. “ _Oh my god!”_

“Fuckin’ Christ, Bev, would you relax?” Zeller mutters out of the side of his mouth. They stand at the opposite end of the bar, where they obviously retreated after sighting Will with Hannibal, for the sole sake of spying on them. Will ignores Bev, goes straight to Alana. She gives him a worried look.

“Can I borrow your key?” He asks in a hushed tone. She raises her eyebrows at him but moves to fish the key out of her purse. Will had been so certain that he’d be returning home with his friends tonight that he neglected to bring a key.

“Will, what’s his name?” Beverly questions.

“Hannibal.” He doesn’t give a last name, doesn’t want them googling the man later. Bev wrinkles her nose, having the same, albeit less-contained, reaction to Hannibal’s name as Will did.

“I have—I have to go…I’ll see you guys later.”

Her jaw would have dropped through the floor if they were in a cartoon. “You’re going _home_ with him? Will Graham is _getting some_ , tonight!”

She tries to give him a high five, which he pointedly ignores. “Wait… Do you even know how it works? Do you need me to explain—“

Alana steps in front of Beverly, cutting her off. “Don’t do anything you won’t regret in the morning, Will.”

He grins at her, an assurance that he isn’t as drunk as she likely believes. Says, “Why would I do anything like that?” And she smiles.

When he returns to Hannibal’s side he has finished his whiskey. The doctor does not look at him immediately, his gaze is locked on something across the room. But before Will has the chance to look, Hannibal turns towards him. He receives a thin smile. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize. Your friends?”

“Yeah… We’re all in the psych department.” Hannibal gives him a cursory nod, giving Will the impression that he does not wish to discuss his university friends. “Shall we… shall we go?”

Hannibal’s smile widens microscopically. He takes Will by the hand, weaving their fingers together tightly as they stride from the club. The cool outside air is a bit jarring in comparison to the sweat-and-sex haze of the bar, so Will is unable to suppress a shiver. He had been warm enough without sleeves earlier, but now even the alcohol in his system doesn’t keep is temperature up enough.

Luckily, Hannibal is not parked too far away. When they approach his car, shiny and black and the part of Will holding the ingrained obsession with motors and mechanics purrs at the sight of it, Hannibal opens the passenger side door for Will and helps him gently inside before circling to the other side. In the few seconds Will waits alone in the car, he surveys the interior, all leather seats with a GPS screen built in where a radio would normally go. Hannibal is a gentleman, and obviously extremely well off, so Will can’t imagine what his reasons for being in that club were.

Will ponders this throughout the drive, when he can’t even watch the world go by out the window without his glasses. They go in comfortable silence, with tension in the air so thick that Will almost fears that his voice would slice through it, causing it to disintegrate along with any interest Hannibal has in him.

The journey takes a little over fifteen minutes and by the end of it Will can feel his dick growing heavy in his jeans. Hannibal takes his hand again and shows him into his home with a hand on the small of his back. Inside, he removes his blazer and hangs it on a crafted silver coat rack beside the door. Places Will’s glasses on a high table beside a vase of lilies.

“Do you do this a lot?” He asks Hannibal without looking away from the flowers. “Go to clubs and brings guys home with you?”

“Not often, no.” Amusement laces his voice. Is that code for ‘a couple times a week’ or ‘this is the first time’? He knows Hannibal has more experience than him. Hell, everyone on this side of 16 has more experience than him. He wouldn’t change himself, if he could, but he does wish that he had something to offer Hannibal in this moment. 

His ears are still ringing from the blast of the club’s house music. Absently, he hits his palm against the side of his skull, a useless attempt at dislodging the noise.

“May I offer you something to clear your head?” Hannibal offers. Will shakes his head; though he is drowsy, the effects of alcohol have yet to wear off. He leans into Hannibal and feels a nose bury itself in his hair. “Bed, then.”

His heart skips a beat. This is moving much more quickly than he expected— _what was he expecting?_ There was no question surrounding the reason Hannibal invited him back here and he did just refuse a drink. Did he expect a long, drawn out conversation about their feelings?

In a fit of what can be described as nothing short of insanity, Will decides to initiate a kiss. He all but leaps at the man, pressing him against the wall in desperation. His motions are utterly lacking in skill, but how can he get better if he doesn’t practice, right? Hannibal is the perfect teacher, though he makes every effort to not let it be so apparent in the process. He opens his mouth to him, coaxes Will’s own tongue inside with a swipe against his own lower lip. Will momentarily feels as if he is eating out the inside of Hannibal’s mouth, but that feeling passes as Hannibal’s hands wind around his back, pulling him up flush against him. Both their cocks are hard now, touching through the material of their trousers.

When they separate for an instance, Hannibal pulls back. It is necessary for him to press his hands against Will’s chest to keep him from pressing forward again. He smirks when an pathetic whimper escapes his lips, destitute.

“Am I correct in the assumption that you are a virgin, Will?” He flushes, letting his eyes drift to the painting of a sunset-cloaked sea hanging on the wall beyond Hannibal’s shoulder. “I apologize if I am wrong—it is not meant as an affront to you. I simply wish to gage what is expected of me.”

 _What is expected of you._ The notion that Hannibal worries in the slightest about what Will expects of him is entirely ridiculous—to the point that Will finds himself considering the motives Hannibal possesses for playing at such a façade. He has to physically stop himself from psychoanalyzing Hannibal, from attempting to profile him. He tears his eyes from the painting to meet Hannibal’s. Gives a short nod.

Time lapses; before Will is fully aware of their movement, he and Hannibal are halfway down the hall, climbing the stairs together. It’s a big house, Will realizes as they move past room after room. Why so much space would be even marginally necessary he does not know. Inside the final door, Hannibal’s bedroom lays hidden like a cave of jewels or the lair of a majestic predator.

Hannibal presses him into the bed, letting him drop to it before striding across the room. In a way that is part exhaustion and part impatience, he allows himself to fall back onto the bed, legs dangling over. Will watches Hannibal move around the room out of the corner of his eyes, staring at the swell of his crotch whenever the angle is right. The doctor sees him looking, gives him a controlled smile. A promise of what is to come.

When Hannibal returns to him, it is with a long white bottle. Will does not need to examine it know that is it lubricant and the idea makes everything inside him clench a bit. He gnaws at his lower lip, simultaneously keens and distresses that it will hurt. Is unsure what that says about him.

With a hand against his shoulder, Hannibal moves them both towards the middle of the bed. Once in what is apparently the optimal position, the hand moves down to take hold of the hem of Will’s shirt. After he removes it, holds it in his hands, Will can’t help but notice the faint look of distaste on his face.

“Do you normally dress like this?” Hannibal asks as he drops Will’s altered t-shirt to the floor beside the bed.

“No, no I don’t, but my friend Beverly—“ Will’s irrepressible babbling is mercifully cut off by the press of Hannibal’s lips against his throat. He can feel teeth bared against his neck, though they do nothing but prod. The kiss moves south, crisscrossing his bare chest, past nipples and chest hair, until pausing at his navel. The sound of Hannibal lapping at the indentation in Will’s flesh fills the room; Will cannot quell moan after moan that breaks free of him as his toes curl in indescribable pleasure. This only intensifies when Hannibal’s palm presses against his crotch, rolling his erection through the thick fabric at a tantalizing pace.

It is with as little grace as Will has seen the man possess that Hannibal strips him of his jeans and briefs. The socks come off with the pull of the denim, so when Hannibal looks back to survey him, Will cannot evade the veracity of his nakedness.

Hannibal takes hold of the lube, squeezing some out onto his fingers. He sees the look on Will’s face and leans forward to kiss his forehead.

“We will go slow.” With that, he parts Will’s knees and rocks his body upwards, exposing his asshole to him. It is completely alien, the sensation of a finger pressing into his anus. That it is slicked by lubricant makes little difference in how uncomfortable Will feels, very nearly too excruciating to bear. But he wants to impress Hannibal, wants to hear praise and break into a million pieces beneath his touch. He realizes that makes him ridiculously adolescent, on the verge of immaturity, but he can’t fight it. So he forces himself to relax as another finger presses inside.

For an immeasurable amount of time, Hannibal works Will open with his fingers. By the end of it, Will is practically quivering with need, his cock hard and leaking lightly onto his stomach.

“Please, please,” Will begs, as if to stipulate Hannibal into doing as he desires. Hannibal’s eyes escape from their apparent trance with the look of Will’s hole around his fingers to glance up. “Fuck me, please.”

If ever there was a phrase Will never imagined himself saying. Hannibal smiles, showing teeth this time and it is almost wolfish, the way he’s looking at Will. Like he’s a conquest despite the fact that Will has freely given himself. He makes another scissoring motion with his fingers, spreading Will wide.

“I’m ready—I _need_ it.” And finally, _finally_ Hannibal removes his fingers. He unbuttons his shirt so slowly, so methodically that Will is sure he is actively _trying_ to make Will desperate.

“If you say so, dear William,” he murmurs as he removes the belt from his trousers. He moves the fabric out of the way to let his erection free, tight and engorged and Will feels the classic virgin fear rushing up on him but he doesn’t care. The lust is further severe.

Hannibal turns him onto his stomach and fills the space left by his fingers in only a shallow thrust. He withdraws slightly before surging forward and Will starts when he hears the groan of pleasure escape the man.

“You are _delicious_ , my precious boy…” Will groans, forcing himself back against Hannibal’s chest. Feels a tongue against the shell of his ear before it swipes down to the nape of his neck. The warmth of the man’s breath against his skin is a single chord in a symphony of sensations Will experiences in his over-sensitization. Hannibal’s teeth sink, slowly, gently, into the back of Will’s neck, his hand comes around and grasps the base of Will’s cock. His hand, still glazed with lubricant meant to be applied to his own arousal, slides up and down the shaft with quick-paced ease. So much so that tremors quickly begin to erupt across his back, his thighs that are only tentatively keeping his ass in the air for the sake of Hannibal’s ease of access.

With cursory self-criticism, Will considers the fact that not two hours earlier he had never even seen this man, and now he was in his bed, letting himself be fucked. _Ah, the irony._ That self-conscious, publicly inept Will would find himself seduced and in the bed of a technical stranger.

The rhythm of Hannibal’s hands and the rhythm of his thrusts into Will fall in line. Each time Will thrusts forward, into Hannibal’s fist, Hannibal pulls himself out of Will, just slightly, before they meet when Will presses back and Hannibal surges forward. This creates an aggregate sensation that makes Will fall apart in Hannibal’s hands.

“Did you like that?” Sex does not strip the amusement from Hannibal’s tone.

“ _Yes_ , oh god…” Lights flash before his eyes, every muscle in his body pulls tight in utter immobility. This is happening too quickly, he feels almost ashamed of his inexperienced sensitivity. It would be embarrassing, if it were not so exquisite. He cums, semen spilling out on Hannibal’s sweat-stained sheets. He thinks he screams something, some stream of curses or adulations for Hannibal’s touch. Afterwards, he cannot recall.

When he floats back down, the soreness in his muscles and insistent pain in his rump comes back slowly. Hannibal has released his dick, which now lays limp against his thigh. He would have fallen downwards, sunk into the mattress, if not for Hannibal’s hand pulling him at his abdomen.

As if sensing Will’s return to the world of the living, Hannibal releases his grip on Will’s chest, removes himself entirely before turning him onto his back. When their lips touch, Will tastes sweat and blood. He hopes he didn’t bleed on Hannibal too much. The kiss is passionate, strangely passionate, and it is enough to make blood rush downwards again, filling his penis with painful arousal.

“What do you think, William?” He murmurs. He presses back inside him, thrusting shallowly, gently until he fills him to the hilt. “Can I bring you to orgasm again?”

The idea is appalling, Will is so exhausted. He opens his mouth to voice his incredulity and Hannibal chooses that _exact moment_ to press against his prostate, as if he has known its precise location all along, a card he has waited patiently to play.

“ _Fuck—_ “ Hannibal hums in delight.

“I should wash it with soap, that wicked tongue…” Hannibal silences the other profanities Will would like to spew with another kiss, deep and all encompassing. It takes only three thrusts at his prostate for Will to orgasm again; Hannibal quickly follows.

His body is on fire, pain singing out from every inch of him. He feels a wetness on his back, where he laid in his own mess. Though he does not turn his head, he can feel Hannibal watching. He turns to look back, going out on a limb to make eye contact, despite how uncomfortable and vulnerable it makes him.

“What are you thinking?” He asks quietly.

Hannibal makes a thoughtful sound, eyes falling away from Will’s to rest on a far wall before drifting back. “Just that tonight ended very differently than I expected.”

This creates a sinking feeling in Will—an idea that he hasn’t performed well, hasn’t pleased the older man. That he _failed_.

“I should go,” Will murmurs. He shifts his body as if to leave the bed. What is the protocol, for things like this? Because what could this be but a one night stand?

“Ah…I think you have misunderstood.” Hannibal murmurs. “You were perfect, truly, William.”

The tone rings true, but Will can’t help but think that Hannibal, ever the gentleman, is being polite.

“No,” he says. “I should get back to my friends. They’ll wonder where I—“

“Do not be ridiculous.” Hannibal says. He winds an arm around Will’s waist and pulls him back against his chest. “I am sure your friends can cope in your absence for one night.”

Will relaxes against the other man almost instantly, comfortable in the fact that his presence is still desired. Wrapped in the first truly complete silence experienced since the club, he feels a pounding in his ears. A ringing that does little to block out the sound of the man behind him breathing in his scent as they both drift off to sleep. 

It is Friday night and Will Graham can think of no place he would rather be. 

**Author's Note:**

> I have one more sequel planned.
> 
> luvkurai.tumblr.com


End file.
